


I Think Somebody’s Hiding Something! (Murder!)

by aroncorsier



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: I had fun, Just ridiculousness featuring the cast in a non-time-specific setting, this is whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroncorsier/pseuds/aroncorsier
Summary: So, the plot is based off gmod murder. I know, right? Sounds great. The cast is just in a giant game of Murder! and foolery follows. Some funny stuff, idk. This is very different from the usual edgy and plot-heavy first-person x Undertaker stuff that I do but I had a blast and figured that somebody might get a kick out of it. This is not connected to my other fics in any way.Murder! Features one person with a knife, and one person with a gun. The rest are bystanders. The knife-wielder must try and murder the cast without being caught and executed by any bystander with the gun; neither roles are announced and everyone must try to survive. Anyone who can pick up the gun is innocent, anyone who shoots an innocent bystander by mistake is temporarily blind and loses possession of the gun as it launches out of their grip.





	I Think Somebody’s Hiding Something! (Murder!)

First of all  
I have no valid explanation for this.  
It’s completely self-indulgent. I haven’t forgotten about Carbon Dating, don’t worry, I know updates there are a little slow; this is not connected nor is it a long term commitment, and Carbon Dating will get an update soon. I just wanted to write this for fun. I’ve been watching mark and minx and them, the early crew, playing GMod Murder and I thought it might make a pretty fun story with the black butler cast. Also, none of the characters have specific roles related to real humans, but if there were equivalents, Grelle would totally be Minx and Undertaker is 100% captainsparklez...  
Anyways. In this story, the characters are essentially playing gmod murder. When a character is killed they don’t actually “die”, so they can stick around and choose to haunt other players. They just can’t spoil the game, and they’re spectral, rather than solid. Try to figure out who the murderer is.  
Also, sorry if the writing is a bit different/ not as good. Life is rough rn and I tried writing this from third person, which is not usually my style. Enjoy!

Featuring:  
Ciel, Sebastian, Elizabeth  
Finni, mey-rin, bardroy, snake, tanaka  
Grelle, Ronald, William, undertaker, othello  
Lau, ran-mao  
~  
“I forgot how to play already!” Mey-rin wailed, hands flying to cover her mouth as she glanced helplessly to Sebastian.  
The butler put his fingers to his temple. “Mey-rin. It is simple. As the young Earl explained it; one person among us has a knife, and one person has a gun. The one with the knife is the murderer and is trying to kill everyone before they are found out. The person with the gun is trying to locate the murderer, and if they shoot the wrong person, they’re blinded for ten seconds and lose the gun. Someone else can pick it up. Everyone else is trying to survive, trying not to be murdered or executed.”  
“I take it the murderer and the person with the gun are informed, but aren’t supposed to tell?” Grelle inquired, flicking their long red hair back and placing their hand on their hip.  
“Precisely,” William confirmed, sharing a look with Sebastian.  
“Does dying hurt?” Lizzie asked, watery green eyes wide and innocent.  
Ciel put his hand on her shoulder. “Only a little. But you don’t actually die, Lizzie. It just means you can’t play any more.”  
With a confused look, Elizabeth nodded happily at Ciel, content that he knew what was going on.  
Snake stood by and watched on silently, his serpents chatting idly beneath his collar. Tanaka and Finni stood next to Mey-rin, with Bardroy on the other side of her. Next to him in the circle stood the Undertaker, then Grelle, Ronald, William, and Othello, who fiddled nervously with the sleeve of his lab coat. Lau and Ran-Mao were next to Sebastian, staring out at the rest of the crew with vague disinterest.  
“This should be fun,” the mortician chuckled suddenly, and William glared at him.  
“For sadists,” he muttered under his breath, and Othello laughed and pushed his glasses up.  
“So, you, sir.”  
“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun,” William smiled slightly.  
“That is a bad sign,” Ciel returned coldly. “It’s easier to make even Sebastian have fun than you.”  
“I’ll stay next to you,” Finni offered to a nervously twitching Mey-rin.  
“Actually, we should all logically split up,” Lau offered mildly. “Since any of us could be the murderer. That way, it will make the game more fun.”  
“Agreed,” Ciel added.  
“Well, the child has spoken, therefore we follow,” Grelle sighed dramatically.  
All of them turned simultaneously to face the giant mansion looming behind them. There were balconies on every window, and though none of them had seen the inside yet, it was clear there were many hallways and rooms to hide in.  
“The round starts in twenty seconds, sir,” Tanaka murmured quietly, looking to Ciel.  
“Split up!!” Ronald roared with sudden enthusiasm, and the group took off, Ran-Mao sliding off of Lau’s shoulders to hit the ground in a crouched sprint.  
The reapers went their separate ways, William slowly ascending the stairs to the front door, Grelle and the Undertaker flying away to various towers in the mansion, and Ronald taking off around the back. Othello, meanwhile, slid casually into a basement window and dropped into darkness. Sebastian leapt onto a second-story balcony and forced his way into the room beyond as Ciel and Lizzie calmly followed William in through the door and then turned left. The servants glanced at each other. Tanaka took his time and sat cross-legged on the ground, and the other four nodded and bounced off into the house at different angles. Lau sighed and sidled around to follow Ronald, hoping he could find somewhere quiet to sit and smoke. 

The alert to show each individual what role they fulfilled chimed unanimously.  
“Shit,” Grelle growled, glancing at their wrist before gazing down from their perch on the roof. It was cloudy and dull outside. The perfect day for murder.  
“Well, that means you are a bystander,” Sebastian murmured, watching with delight as Grelle whipped around in fright, nearly tumbling off the roof.  
“How the hell did you get up here?” Grelle demanded, glaring icily at the demon now crouched in front of them.  
Sebastian smirked darkly. “I went upwards, honestly, Grelle, what did you think?”  
“Did you stab your way up here with a knife, perhaps?” Grelle accused, still crouched and leaning precariously back over the precipice of the high rooftop.  
Sebastian crossed his arms. “I’d rather not tell you, but since I believe you are—well, nothing, I think I’ll stick around.”  
“Look me in the eye and say you’re innocent,” Grelle commanded sharply.  
The redhead was met with glowing fuchsia.  
“I am... innocent.”

“This way,” Oscar whispered, straining off to the right. Snake followed his instructions, jogging through hallways of paintings and antique furniture. Pushing through several doors, he found himself first in an armour hall, up a staircase, and subsequently through a small library with various preserved insects stuck to the walls.  
His wrist ding~ed at him.  
Relieved at the verdict, Snake pushed through a final door and stumbled into a dark dome with a large telescope in the middle.  
“Observatory,” Keats noted, and Snake nodded, sinking to his knees and scuttling into a dusty corner to breathe and hide. 

Ran-Mao glanced down as the alarm chirped at her. Screeching to a stop in the middle of a pool hall, she paused to listen. Slowly stalking up to the north wall, she put her ear against it. Distantly, there were familiar footsteps. Approaching.  
Coming to a sudden decision, she spun on her heel and ducked under a pool table to wait, cold and calculating eyes locked on the western door. Waiting. 

Weaving their way slowly down ancient staircases, Ciel and Lizzie whispered to each other to comfort each other in the impending silence before promptly hiding their hands behind their backs at the sound of the alert. Each glanced individually. Biting anxiously at her nails, Lizzie turned and smiled at Ciel. “Bystander!” She chirped.  
Ciel rolled his eyes and nodded. “Me too. Shall we?”  
“I must admit,” a cool voice purred from around the corner. Ciel froze in fear and pulled Lizzie back as the figure stepped around the corner. “I have always wanted to do this.”

Othello crouched in the dim light. He hadn’t changed his position since the beginning of the game, even after his wrist chimed at him. The basement was lit with oil lanterns, but they seemed few and far between; he couldn’t see light down any hallway beyond the room he was in, which appeared to be some kind of sewing room.  
“Well, lovely place,” Grelle’s voice suddenly echoed in his ear, and Othello ducked away out of reflex. The redhead laughed.  
“What, dead already?” Othello muttered, shakily readjusting his glasses.  
“Rude,” spectral Grelle huffed, crossing their arms in front of their chest. “It wasn’t my fault! I hardly even got a chance to get at the gun.”  
“You had the gun?” Othello perked up.  
“No,” Grelle denied, grinning and drifting lazily further into the room. “I’m just disappointed I didn’t get to kill anybody!”  
“I don’t know why I bothered asking,” Othello laughed quietly and shook his head. “So do you know who the murderer is?”  
Grelle levelled a sardonic glare at him. “What do you think? All dead participants can see who is what.”  
“Will you tell me?”  
“No,” Grelle scoffed, leaning back against a table. “You can get killed all by yourself. I would move if I were you, though.”  
“A small part of me feels like I shouldn’t take survival advice from your ghost,” Othello pointed out, glancing nervously at the gloomy doorway across the room as slow footsteps approached.  
Grelle shrugged smugly and flickered out of view.  
Othello pressed himself back into the corner, hiding in the shadow of a mannequin as the figure swung into the room.  
It was the mortician. Othello cursed under his breath.  
In the silence, the Undertaker stilled and took a moment to gaze about the chaotic room of fabric and dusty tables before he giggled.  
“Well,” the mortician murmured quietly, eyes suddenly locking on the corner where the scientist crouched unseen. “Doesn’t this feel familiar?”

“Augh!” William grit his teeth and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It felt like he’d been blinded with pepper spray.  
“An’ just wot happened ‘ere?” A gruff voice suddenly approached from his left.  
“Get back!” William hissed, stumbling backwards and hitting the stone floor of the staircase at an odd angle.  
“Woah, mate, relax. I ain’t gonna kill ya. Looks like you’re the murderer here, eh?”  
William groaned again and wiped his sleeve across his eye. “I honestly really hoped it was the Earl.”  
“I think you jus’ wanted to shoot ‘im,” Bardroy offered.  
“I don’t know where the gun went,” William gasped, eyes watering. He blinked dazedly at the tall chef now standing above him with a certain amount of wariness.  
Bardroy shrugged. “That’s the point, I think. I been lookin’ for Mey-Rin because if she gets the gun, bystanders win, basically.”  
William froze, halfway through picking himself up off the marble. “And how do you know that she isn’t the murderer?”  
“I don’,” Bardroy shrugged again and held up placating hands. “But if she ain’t, and there’s a decently high chance that she ain’t, I want her to ‘ave the gun, see?”  
“Are you a bystander?”  
“‘Course,” Bardroy huffed. “I’m never important enough to make a real difference.”  
William sighed and pushed himself to standing, stretching the elbow that he banged on the floor with a grimace. He glanced at the Earl’s corpse.  
“No regrets,” he chuckled coldly. “Let’s go find the gun. Lizzie took off, she’s lost without Ciel. We may as well go after some of the other reapers, or find Mey-Rin, as you said.”  
Bardroy blinked in surprise at the dark reaper. “You just gonna hunt ‘em all until you get it right?”  
“Strategically, yes, that is the plan,” William nodded, setting his lips in a line and trotting down the staircase.  
With a despairing shake of his head, Bardroy followed. 

“Come on out, little one,” the Undertaker urged.  
Heart frozen in terror, Othello clutched the mannequin desperately, eyes nearly tearing up from panic. He didn’t want to die yet! In fact, he didn’t want to die at all!  
The mortician stalked further into the room.  
With a deep breath, Othello forced his shaking knees to still and stepped out from behind the mannequin. In the tense silence that followed, the Undertaker grinned and kicked the door closed behind him. Othello swallowed thickly, poised to attack or defend if necessary.  
The Undertaker opened his mouth, hesitated, and then spoke. “Are you unarmed?”  
“Why in hell would I t-tell you?” Othello grit his teeth, cursing that his voice wouldn’t come out stronger.  
“Do you have a weapon?” The Undertaker murmured again, standing equally tense. A wolf facing a lynx.  
Othello’s mouth pressed tight shut and he shook his head; denial to answer the question.  
“What about you?”  
“Unarmed,” the Undertaker sighed suddenly, lifting his arms to open his chest vulnerably and taking a step back.  
“That gesture does nothing when you’re covered in those robes.”  
“Would you like me to strip?” The mortician offered with a crooked grin, and Othello shuddered and took another small shift backwards. “You really are insane.”  
“Have you been here the entire time?” The Undertaker demanded, tone sharpening and eyes glinting dangerously in the low lighting. Othello touched the wall behind him nervously.  
“Uh—y-yes, I have,” he admitted slowly, vision analyzing every twitch of the Undertaker’s posture.  
Suddenly he was flattened against the stone wall, the Undertaker’s hand around his throat and the cold metal pushing into his pulse point.  
“Gah!! No, Undertaker—“  
“I find it difficult to believe that you’ve been down here for the entire twenty minutes of the game thus far,” the mortician murmured slowly, and Othello’s fear spiked as he thrashed against the older reaper’s grip.  
“I don’t have anything! I’m innocent!” Othello shrieked, voice strained against the Undertaker’s hand and the gun digging into his throat.  
He stilled, hands up against the Undertaker’s shoulders and eyes pressed shut as he waited for the bullet to rip into his neck.  
The Undertaker waited, hesitating and watching Othello’s face with a hyper-analytical gaze.  
After a few more moments, the smaller twisting helplessly in his grip and doing nothing more, the mortician stepped away.  
Othello slid down the wall slightly and gasped in relief, rubbing his throat in self-comfort and staring up at the older reaper.  
Chuckling at the sight, the mortician tucked the gun away back into his robes. “Quite the little roleplay fanatic,” he cackled mockingly, stepping away slowly.  
“Just over-competitive, thank you,” Othello coughed, glaring up at him.  
Humming in agreement, the Undertaker laughed again and threw open the door. Pausing on his way out, he glanced back at the littler reaper cowering in the shadows. “Who do you think it is?”  
“I thought it was you, so, my judgement is still up in the air,” Othello offered, shrugging helplessly.  
Nodding, the mortician winked once, patted the side pocket where the gun rested, and disappeared into the darkness. 

 

Lau did in fact wind up in a quiet and secure location. In the north tower, he found a hall with a large series of couches scattered around aquariums with interesting life in them; he laid back easily and lit up a pipe.  
A solid smoke haze had filled the room by now, and he was quite content; both with his game status and his position.  
At some point, the ghost of Ran-mao drifted into the hall and settled next to him, and he lazily pet her head and pulled in more smoke. 

“Ouch!” Lizzie yelped, suddenly crashing into someone at full-tilt and tumbling backwards onto the hard wooden floor of the ballroom.  
Ronald spun around and adjusted his glasses, as they had slid down his nose at the jarring impact as he bulldozed the blonde.  
“Sorry miss!” He apologized, proffering a hand.  
Lizzie narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “A-are you the murderer?”  
“Nope,” Ronald shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything happen, I have no idea what’s going on. I did hear gunshots, though.”  
“W-William killed Ciel!!” Lizzie wailed, flinging herself upon Ronald and half-dragging him down with her as she grabbed onto his hand.  
“That bastard!” Ronald exclaimed, smiling with kind amusement as Lizzie wept dramatically into his arm, patting her head. “If it comforts you, it means William is innocent if he could touch the gun.”  
“We should hide,” Elizabeth gasped suddenly, starting off in a random direction and dragging Ronald with her.  
“Oh-oh-okay, whatever you say, m’lady,” Ronald snickered, allowing himself to be lead away into the twisting halls of the murder mansion. 

The Undertaker, meanwhile, stalked the halls, actively hunting for the murderer. Suddenly, a flare of red materialized by his side.  
“Hello, m’dear,” he cooed. “I’m rather surprised at the efficiency of your demise.”  
“So was I,” Grelle huffed. “I got killed before I even got a chance to see it coming.”  
Brushing his long white hair back over his shoulders, the mortician grinned. “So I’m dealing with a real problem here, hm? Who operates at such a level... the butler?”  
With a knowing smile, Grelle shrugged. “I can’t tell you,” they purred whimsically.  
Then both of them paused, having heard the same squeak at the same time. Grin widening, the redhead saluted the Undertaker and they flashed out of sight. “Speak of the devil.”  
“I prefer demon, thank you,” Sebastian corrected them calmly, staring down at the Undertaker from the rafters.  
“Your well-polished shoe was your undoing, master butler,” the Undertaker chuckled, casually sliding his hands into his pockets.  
“I heard you may think that I am the killer,” Sebastian placed a hand over his chest with a cool smile. “I can assure you, I have not yet drawn blood from any party.”  
Dropping from the high ceiling, the goth butler landed in a crouch and knelt in front of the older reaper with his arms spread. “I plead, if you do not trust me, then shoot me. I assume, from your tone, that you have the gun, of course?”  
“Pfffft,” the Undertaker snickered. “You should know better, butler. I have my scythe and nothing more.”  
“Then certainly you won’t mind if I simply leave you be,” Sebastian offered, slowly rising to his full height and backing away towards the far door. “And try to stay alive.”  
“Certainly not,” the mortician’s smile was tense as he watched Sebastian back away, and the reaper dared not turn his back until the demon was long out of range, through the door, and out of sight.  
“Well that wasn’t very dramatic,” Grelle whined, flickering back.  
The Undertaker levelled his gaze at the redhead. “Although I take advice from the dead on a regular basis, I think I shall choose to ignore your priorities for now, Grelle,” the mortician chuckled, picking up where he left off and striding off down the hall the other way. “As they seem to have done you more harm than good.”

“William!” Ronald shouted, bounding up to his senior and nodding to the military-esque man accompanying him, whom he recognized to be one of the Phantomhive servants.  
“Ronald!” William whipped around with an icy glare. “You keep your hands up where we can see them!”  
“Sheesh, boss, I’m not the killer!” Ronald yelped. “But I got separated from Lizzie!”  
“Lizzie?” William demanded. “She fled from me—“  
“After you killed Ciel, yes,” Ronald chuckled. “How did that go?”  
“Killing people was easy with the gun, but now I can’t find the bloody gun!” William cursed, and Bardroy nodded sympathetically.  
“We ‘aven’t seen the gun, nor Finni or Mey. I ‘aven’t even seen Snake, come to think of it,” Bardroy placed his chin on his knuckles to ponder. “Wonder where they are.”

“This sucks!” The Undertaker roared, stumbling to his knees and pressing his hands over his eyes.  
“Does it?” Sebastian cooed, lifting the gun off the floor. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find the real murderer and shoot him. I know exactly who it is,” he hissed under his breath, and the Undertaker distantly heard him stalk away.  
“Well, that was rather rude,” Lau’s haunting voice drifted through the haze of pain.  
Still blind, the Undertaker tried to shake himself. “My apologies, Lau, I truly believed you killed Ran-mao, since I have had the gun for most of the game now and did not once see your... sister.”  
“It is alright,” Lau sighed, ghostly hand running down Ran-mao’s shoulder. “I will simply have to select a different approach next round, if there is to be another game. I enjoyed my time here. Come look at the fish, Undertaker. They are quite fascinating.”  
“I will when I’m dead,” the mortician offered, rubbing the last of the blurriness from his vision and struggling to his feet. “I think I have a demon to go catch.”  
“Him following you was quite a clever move on his behalf,” Lau snickered. “What a way to go, death god— outsmarted by a demon.”  
The Undertaker glared. “I’m beginning to feel less remorseful for killing you.” 

It all happened in a flash for Snake. The door to the conservatory banged open, and Lizzie came dashing in, only to be immediately shot by Sebastian. She wailed and flickered out of the game as the gun flew out of Sebastian’s hands, practically landing in Snake’s lap. Keats shot out from Snake’s sleeve and wrapped around the hilt, dragging the pistol into the boy’s grip.  
The demon writhed on the floor, hands pressed over his eyes as he groaned in agony. More footsteps approached.  
“You’re dead, demon!” The mortician shouted, and Snake fearfully lifted the gun. Oscar slid across the trigger and the gun popped in his hand, the bullet striking the reaper hard in the chest and knocking him to the floor in a pile of robes and white hair.  
Snake’s vision immediately went black and the gun vanished.  
“Run,” Keats hissed, and Snake dragged himself to his feet and flew from the room, following Oscar’s directions to not crash into walls as he fled through the mansion. 

Mey-Rin and Finni watched from the shadows of a large marble statue as Snake tore past them, clearly stumbling blind.  
Just as Mey-Rin was about to call to him, she was interrupted by another set of footsteps sprinting after him. Ronald rounded the corner, followed immediately by William and Bardroy.  
“Hey!” She shouted, and Finni followed her out into the hallway.  
“Mey-Rin! Finn!” Bardroy bellowed, grinning broadly and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Do you know where the gun is?”  
The maid shook her head nervously. “I-I haven’t seen it! But we just saw Snake run away blind, so it must be wherever he was!”  
“We haven’t seen Snake all game,” William shared a concerned look with Ronald. “So we have no idea where that is.”  
“I’ve been moving,” Finni offered shyly. “He wasn’t in the pool room, and he wasn’t in the... swimming... pool room.”  
“There’s a swimming pool?” Ronald’s eyes widened, until he got an elbow to the ribcage from his supervisor.  
“Anyone looking for a gun?” Sebastian chuckled from behind all of them. Everyone spun to face the demon, who once again had obtained the pistol that Snake had forsaken.  
“Elizabeth and the Undertaker are dead,” Sebastian continued, levelling the gun and sweeping the barrel in the group’s vague direction. “As is Lau and Ran-Mao. I know Snake is not the killer, as he has picked up the gun; only this group is left. One of you is the murderer,” Sebastian shrugged. “I, for one, think it’s William.”  
Bardroy shoved William aside and the bullet struck him instead. There was a collective gasp as the great chef’s form doubled over and then dissolved.  
Sebastian swore and fell to the ground again.  
“Just for that!” William shouted, jumping for the gun and firing at the demon several times before the pistol was ripped from his grip.  
“Will!” Ronald cried. “I know you don’t like demons but we’re on the same team!”  
“I will—never— be on the same team— as a demon!!” William screamed, pressing his forehead to the tile floor of the art hall as the various waves of pain behind his eyes bloomed. Mey-Rin stooped and grabbed up the gun, spinning to face the remaining two.  
“Alright,” she murmured, voice becoming stable and smooth as she lifted her glasses up off of her nose to rest in her purple hair. “Which one of you am I killing? It’s not William or Snake... Finni,” she sighed sadly. “Please don’t tell me it’s been you this whole time!”  
“It’s not! It’s not me!” Finni wailed, sinking to his knees. Ronald put his arms around Finni’s shoulders and held up a palm towards Mey-Rin.  
“We’re forgetting someone!” He exclaimed suddenly, and William groaned from the floor.  
“Othello...”  
“That bitch!” The Undertaker’s ghost suddenly flickered into view.  
“Language, sir,” William rasped, sitting back on his haunches and slowly opening his eyes.  
“I had him!!! In my grip!!! WITH THE GUN!!”  
“So you’re saying he’s the murderer?” Ronald asked hopefully.  
The mortician’s flickering form glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t say that! You all came to that conclusion, no? I was listening to you!”  
“You do know, though...?” Mey-Rin murmured skeptically.  
With a shake of his head, the mortician scowled. “Why would I? I haven’t seen anyone get stabbed.”  
“Undertaker,” Ronald coughed awkwardly. “That thing on your wrist— when you’re dead, you can see everyone’s statistics.”  
“This?” The mortician pointed, brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at his hand before hitting it a couple of times. “How?”  
“Oh, my dear,” Grelle drifted into view next to the older reaper. Glancing almost apologetically to the three remainders, they took the Undertaker by the hand and led him away from the group. “He doesn’t really get technology yet,” Grelle laughed, dragging the Undertaker back out of the game as he opened his mouth to question the gadget sitting on his wrist further.  
William lifted his eyebrows. “Well, now we know who we need to go find. Snake is still running around, Othello’s holed up somewhere—“  
“He’s probably still in the basement,” Grelle offered, flickering back in with the Undertaker further away, tinkering cautiously with the band on his arm.  
“You’re not supposed to interfere!” Ronald objected.  
Grelle clicked their tongue. “I haven’t revealed anything, I just want this game to move a little quicker. I’ve been dead this whole bloody time— I’m borrrrred!!”  
“The basement it is,” Mey-Rin shuddered, and they headed off. 

Snake had actually stumbled into the very sewing room where Othello was still crouched, and Othello sprang upon him immediately, pinning the servant to the floor.  
“Are you the killer?!” Othello demanded sharply, glasses nearly sliding off his face.  
Snake wriggled beneath him with a panicked look.  
“No!! Says Keats!!” Snake shrieked, laying his hands out on the floor defencelessly. “Are you? Says Oscar!”  
“I’m not,” Othello sighed and shook his head, picking himself up off the smaller boy and helping him up. “But I’ll be really disappointed if you shank me when I’m not looking, yeah?”  
“I shot the Undertaker, says Oscar,” Snake whimpered, rubbing at his eyes still.  
“The Undertaker? Why? How did he lose the gun?”  
“The demon had it, says Keats,” Snake offered. “We should run, says Keats. The others are coming for us. There are only a few left alive, the gun is with them, and we don’t know if any of them know of our innocence.”  
“Lead away, I’m bored down here,” Othello gestured to the open door Snake had just tumbled through. 

Unfortunately, this was the exact moment Mey-Rin, William, Finni, and Ronald all rounded down the last staircase.  
Snake was fast— so fast that Mey-Rin, instincts wired tightly, shot him as soon as she saw movement.  
“Mey-Rin, you shot the wrong one!” William scolded, stealing the gun as Snake stumbled back into the darkness before disappearing.  
Mey-Rin, blind on the staircase, tripped and fell, breaking her neck.  
“Oh no!” Finni shouted, lunging after her.  
“Too late,” the ghost of Mey-Rin chuckled. “Stupid fall-damage. You’re all screwed anyway.”  
William suddenly faced an issue. Now, all three people were supposedly innocent or guilty; the reaper had never seen any of them grab the gun.  
He pointed it at each of them individually, before sighing. “Since all of you know I am a bystander, I am willing to pass the gun off to you to test who is the murderer. Someone give me a valid reason why I should trust them.”  
“The Undertaker was alone with me and in very close range,” Othello offered immediately.  
Ronald cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds suggestive.”  
“Silence!” Othello snapped, cheeks tinging red. “The point is, he had the gun at my throat and I didn’t kill him. It would have been advantageous for me to keep the gun down where none of you could find it so that you ran into my knife individually; but I didn’t, because I don’t have a bloody knife!!”  
William pondered this for a moment, analyzing Othello’s panicked features carefully before flipping the gun in his grip and handing it to the littler reaper.  
Gratefully, Othello latched onto it and pointed it between Finni and Ronald.  
“Now who is it?”  
“You pick,” Ronald offered with a casual shrug, and just as Othello aimed for him, the younger reaper grabbed Will by his fancy jacket and dragged him in front.  
The bullet buried itself in William’s chest and the reaper, with a surprised shout of anguish, collapsed on the steps.  
Othello meanwhile, dropped to the ground, the gun flying out of his hand.  
“I knew you’d pick me and get us all killed,” Ronald explained, snatching the pistol and shooting Finni twice in quick succession. To his surprise, he also went blind as Finni cried out and died.  
Othello came to his senses just a few seconds before Ronald. Barely managing to wrap his fingers shakily around the gun, Othello stood and pointed the muzzle at Ronald.  
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Othello snarled breathlessly. “Or how you rigged the game, you clown, but I’m innocent. Hasta la vista.”  
He emptied the clip into Ronald’s torso until the blinded reaper flickered out of the game.  
Othello felt the stabbing pain behind his eyes again, and let himself be overcome by it for a few moments before slinking back through the sewing room and crawling desperately back out into the light through the window in which he had first snuck.  
Shaking and dazed, he flopped onto his back and stared up at the sky with blurry vision.  
He gasped, and he smiled.  
Victory.  
Then a shadow fell over his eyes. Craning his head back, the little reaper blinked up at the smiling face.  
“Oh shit...” Othello hissed. He had left the gun in the house.  
“Language,” Tanaka advised sagely, flicking the knife downwards into Othello’s stomach, just below his solar plexus.  
Othello flickered, and died. 

“You guys are idiots!” Grelle laughed maniacally as everyone took their various place in the lounge.  
“Well how did you die?” Sebastian demanded.  
“William killed me!! William started out with the damn gun and was just hunting stragglers down! When I was running from you, Sebastian, he shot me!”  
“Same with Ran-Mao,” Lau offered politely. “William was on quite the killing streak.”  
Will shrugged defeatedly. “I thought it was my best chance.”  
“How did you get the gun?” Othello inquired, lifting an eyebrow at the mortician.  
The older reaper waved a hand. “I was simply following the Earl around. When William shot him, it practically bounced into my hand.”  
“Creepy,” Ciel growled. “Don’t follow me.”  
“Tanaka, did you kill anyone before Othello?” Asked Mey-Rin.  
With a secretive smile, the old man shook his head, and took an innocent sip of tea.


End file.
